


Please Have Snow and Mistletoe

by MarleyMortis



Series: Bucky Barnes Starts A Family [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Artificial Insemination, Bucky starts a family, F/F, Hospitalization After Injury, Luis is a Good Bro Too, M/M, Military Spouse, Tony Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarleyMortis/pseuds/MarleyMortis
Summary: Steve gets the call all military spouses dread.





	1. Chapter 1

**Please Have Snow and Mistletoe**

Snow whispered over the Brooklyn Bridge. Far below, rush hour traffic fought through the early April squall, turning the hectic New York commute into a battlefield as people rushed to get home before the main storm arrived. Weather reports claimed they would wake up to two inches of the white stuff, and in current news media language, that meant everyone was losing their goddamn minds.

Steve, standing above it all in his office at Avengers Org, calmly sipped coffee while watching New Yorkers freak out over a couple inches of snow. Used to be, it took a dozen inches to get everyone's panties in a twist. Now, a dusting was enough to make the city come to a proverbial stand still. Either humanity was devolving or weather reporters were successfully brainwashing people.

He procured his phone and snapped a picture from the window to send to Bucky. Having his husband a million miles away in Afghanistan never got easier. One would think he would be used to the separation. Not so. There were nights he still reached over expecting to feel the man's warmth beside him only to come up empty, the sheets cold. Those mornings were always the roughest.

The door opening jolted him from his melancholy.

Angie entered first, followed immediately by Peggy, whose stomach was trending bigger than your average pregnancy. Still only one fetus. Their obstetrician had checked. Several times. Steve was quietly relieved. It would be hard enough being a single parent to one child while Bucky was gone. Twins might result in streaks of gray mixed in with the gold.

Hurrying forward, he helped Peggy off with her coat and pulled the chair from his desk so she could sit while Angie, Peggy's wife, got them coffee.

Meanwhile, Steve shot a text to Gabe Jones, the girls' long-time boyfriend, letting him know they had arrived safely despite the oncoming Snowpocalypse. Gabe had been ringing him non-stop for updates since the man was currently out of town working on a translation at the Smithsonian.

“What about this weather?” Peggy asked.

“Technically, it has snowed later in April before,” he commented.

“Still freaky-deaky,” said Angie.

“How did it go?” he inquired.

“We finally close next week. That means we'll need you and your muscles to help us move in before the birth. Gabe insists I not pick up a single box. That man will be the death of me.”

“Babe, Gabe-y is the only reason you aren't on the shooting range every week. Pretty sure I owe that man every not-gray hair on my head by this point.” Angie settled the cup in front of Peggy and kissed her wife's glossy hair.

“You should listen to Gabe. Really. For all our sakes.”

Peggy blew off their concerns in true stiff-upper-lip fashion and helped herself to Steve's work computer. Manicured nails flew over the keyboard as she pulled up their records database. “Have we received the updates on Trump's latest veteran's spending budget yet?”

“Just came in from our sources this morning.” Steve leaned over her shoulder to pull up the latest reports. “There are inconsistencies. You can see here the outgoing grant figures to two of his favorite charity organizations. Cross reference it against the charity's outgoings, and you can see there are discrepancies. Even allowing for salary, there's a huge difference between what they're receiving and what they're paying out. That money is going somewhere.”

They continued to talk business. Avengers Org had started in Steve's basement when he was in middle school, a solo project that put together comprehensive and accurate information about various politicians and their voting records. It had been a way for interested voters to cut through the bullshit propaganda of television ads and find the truth as to what the candidates stood for. Then came Peggy Carter, brash British exchange student with an interest in American politics and the truth.

A decade and numerous grants and public donations later, and they had moved into a building in Brooklyn and expanded operations to serve as a watchdog against government corruption. They still put out comprehensive fact packages about candidates running for office, but their organization had become so much more. They served a necessary purpose in a world filled with political shenanigans, in a world where a man who bragged about not paying taxes could be elected to the presidency.

Their latest push had been investigating charities for veterans to make sure their returning soldiers got the help they were entitled to. He'd been shocked at how many bogus charities were out there taking public donations and pocking the lion's share. Nothing shocked him anymore in this business. People did horrendous things when money was involved.

They were in the midst of a heated discussion when Steve's cell went off. He ignored it until Angie, her face grave, handed him the phone and suggested he should take it. The look she gave him scared him into glancing at the screen. It was Bucky's deployment officials. Everything stopped.

“H-h-hello?”

“Mr. Steven Barnes?”

“This is he.”

“My name is Jennifer Walsh. I'm with the 2nd Brigade Combat Team 10th Mountain Division. Your husband, Sgt. James Barnes, has been seriously injured while on mission and is being airlifted to Germany as we speak. I've called with current information on his condition.”

“H-h-how bad is it?”

“He is presently in critical condition. Sgt. Barnes was caught in an IED blast. In the process of stabilizing him, his left arm was amputated. There was also considerable damage to the core of his body up to and including several broken ribs, a shattered collarbone, and fractures in his scapula.”

Steve sat were he stood and cradled his forehead. “Where is he? How can I get there to be with him?”

“I will send you information regarding travel in the form of an email.”

He had the sudden desire to reach through the phone and shake her because how dare she use such a clinical tone with regards to his husband. Didn't she know there was a person behind those details? A new thought penetrated the fog currently gripping his brain.

“Was anyone else hurt from his unit?”

“There was one casualty.”

“Who?”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you.”

“Who was killed?” he shouted, unable to control the surge of emotion.

“Sir, army regulation stipulates that information cannot be released until the family has been notified. We are presently attempting to contact the service member's next of kin.”

“Oh God.” Breathing hurt. Why did breathing hurt?

“Mr. Barnes, I will contact you again when Sgt Barnes has landed in Germany with an update.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Why was she thanking him for his time? He couldn't breathe. God, why couldn't he breathe? The phone went silent when the call ended, but he didn't place it on the floor next to him, didn't move it away from his ear. He was too numb for that sort of muscle memory to activate.

Something cool pressed against his mouth.

“Take a deep breath, Steve,” Angie chided.

He obeyed the directive and inhaled as she depressed the canister of his inhaler. Medicine shot into his lungs. It was cool and soothing and allowed him to take in a deep breath. The rush of oxygen left him lightheaded, so all he could do was latch onto Angie and cling like his life depended on it.

“Steve, what do you need?” asked Peggy.

“I need--” He hiccuped. “I need to get to Germany. Bucky is being airlifted there. It's bad.”

“Angie, would you be good enough to send Luis to Steve's brownstone to pack his medications and some clothing? He can meet us at the airport.”

“Isn't he that waffle truck guy?”

“He turned up at our Halloween party dressed as an intern. No one kicked him out afterward.”

Naturally, the urgency of the situation meant the airport was a madhouse. Two inches of snow and flights were being delayed left and right. Something about the tarmac having not been prepared given how unusual it was to have a snow storm in April. People were sprawled out in various seating areas waiting to be boarded, and the din of their noise made Steve adjust the volume of his hearing aid.

Luis, who was apparently the staff's unofficial intern, waited for them near the check in with two carry on bags and a giant Mango Fruit Blast from Baskin Robins. In twenty-nine degree weather.

“Hi guys. Hope you don't mind I stopped in for a snack you ever had a Mango Fruit Blast they're pretty good.” He finally took a breath. “So what can I do you for? We're going to Germany, right? I went to Germany once great beer although I refused to wear the funny leather shorts.”

“What do you mean by 'we?'” asked Peggy.

“Look at the guy. Yo, Space-master. Someone's gotta go with him to make sure he gets on the right connecting flights and makes it to the right hospital.”

A beat of silence passed.

“That's what the intern's for, right? Figure I better earn my keep since you're putting me on payroll.”

“You're not on payroll.”

Luis' smile was like sunshine. “Yeah, but you're gonna.”

“I only booked one ticket.”

The intern pulled a boarding pass and passport from his back pocket.

“Thanks, Luis.” Steve gripped the intern's shoulder to squeeze it.

Angie scampered off to pick up his boarding pass from the check in desk, but just as she was returning so they could go through security, their flight was delayed. For two inches of snow. Because two inches of snow translated to “Aaaaaaaaah, we're gonna be buried alive!”

There was nothing to do but wait, and when it became apparent the wait would be significant, he sent the girls home so they weren't caught out in the worst of the storm. They were reluctant to leave, but he certainly didn't want to take chances with the pregnancy just so they could hold his hand. Luis was company enough to keep him from going absolutely mad while waiting.

So they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Luis was sprawled across several seats, one foot on the floor, when the notice board officially canceled the flight they were supposed to take out of JFK. The guy sat up with an “Ah Hell” and scurried to the main desk to see if there was anything he could do, leaving Steve to hide behind his hands.

Bucky was hurt. The one time his husband really needed him, and he couldn't even get on a goddamn airplane to be with him. This was punishment for having found his soul mate so young in life, for having avoided kissing all those frogs to find his prince.

Unfortunately, the mad scramble to find a different flight that would get them to Germany proved impossible. Everything was either booked or delayed because of the storm. They could have flown into Denver to catch a flight to France, only Denver was covered in a foot of snow and had no outgoing flights. Flying out to Florida would have been option except that flight was booked full, and it didn't occur to him to ask any passengers to give up their tickets. They may have if he'd flashed the wounded veteran card, but it didn't cross his mind to use Bucky's status for preferential treatment.

The end point resulted in not being able to fly out until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, and that just wasn't good enough. Bucky might be dead before he arrived if he waited until tomorrow afternoon. His husband might die in a foreign country tens of thousands of miles away from him with no one to hold his hand and no comfort but the blackness of oblivion.

Steve sat down in the middle of the airport and hugged himself.

“Oh please. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to remain calm.”

“Look at this face. Tell me you don't recognize this face. It's plastered all over your television.”

“Sir, it's airport policy. If you don't have identification, I cannot allow you beyond this point.”

“Any second now, Happy's gonna come through that door and vouch for my character, and you're gonna feel sorry for holding a guy up from getting to Berlin for his girlfriend's awards ceremony. You know, that gorgeous redhead who took over as CEO of Stark Industries. Yeah, that's my bae.”

Luis nudged him in the ribs. “Guy's going to Germany in a private jet.”

“How do you know he's got a private jet?”

“'Cause that's the VIP entrance. They have to go through security too, you know.”

“Okay.”

His companion rolled his eyes and jumped up. “Yo Stark.”

“Oh shit, is that the voice of conscience finally introducing itself for yelling at VIP security officials?”

“Yes,” Luis responded. “Yes, I'm your conscience, and it's telling you that that man right there. You see him? The lump in the middle of the floor? Yeah, him. His husband was recently wounded.” Their voices blurred together as Luis explained the situation.

What surprised him was when Stark approached and held out his hand. “Heard you need to get to your husband in Germany. It just so happens I'm headed that way and have a thing for helping veterans to assuage my guilty conscience. You know, that whole business about creating weapons and all? So it seems you need a lift, and I need some good karma points. What do you say? Landstuhl Medical Center or bust?”

Steve lifted his head to make eye contact with the man. It was hard to believe. He didn't necessarily have the best opinion of the ultra rich. They took trillions of dollars out of circulation by hording it in off-shore bank accounts while the common worker lived pay check to pay check, so it surprised him when someone of the upper echelon did a good deed.

Finally, he accepted the hand in getting to his feet. “Thank you. It would mean the world to me.”

***

The damage was hard to look at. No amount of preparation could have taken away from the shock of seeing his husband so pale and lifeless in a hospital bed. There was something incredibly fragile about him, bundled up in pale blankets, dark hair a shock of contrast against white pillow cases, complexion making him disappear amongst the bedclothes. He hardly seemed real. He looked more like a China doll perched on the edge of a shelf when any small vibration could cause him to fall and shatter.

Bucky's face was littered with bruises and abrasions, but the main source of damage was the empty spot where his arm should have been. There was one hand lying still against the blanket with an IV leading to a stand and a bag that dripped saline. What should have been symmetrical wasn't. There was nothing, a void, an absence of part of the body Steve had loved since they were fourteen.

He dropped into a chair beside the bed and carefully gathered Bucky's remaining hand to press his lips against his husband's knuckles. The tears came salty and plentiful. They dripped onto Bucky's skin.

“I'm here, Bee-Bear. 'M right here, and I won't let anything happen to you again.”

His husband didn't wake.

“Hey, do you remember the first time I went into the hospital after we got together? God, you were so mad when the doctor didn't take me seriously.”

Modern medicine liked to think of itself as a paragon of higher thinking, but the truth was that some doctors couldn't see the forest for the trees. Steve's condition had confounded normal medical practices, so the number of doctors who wrote him off as a hypochondriac and recommended a mental health professional was astoundingly high.

It had taken a particularly brilliant hormone therapist, Dr. Abraham Erskine, to figure out that his pituitary gland had suffered from a unique malfunction that was now referred to as Rogers Syndrome. Hormone replacement therapy and surgical intervention had finally allowed him to fulfill his genetic predisposition to height and muscle mass.

Of course, then his bad heart had caught up with him. He'd spent over a year on the transplant list before a donor heart had finally come through. Steve was healthier than he'd ever been even if he was sometimes bitter about being on medication for the rest of his life.

He smiled and grazed his thumb over Bucky's forehead. “Pretty sure that doctor gave up medicine when you tore him a new one. But you were always there. Every doctor appointment, every run to the pharmacy, every moment I wanted to give up. You didn't let me. Now it's my turn.”

He wiped his face with a tissue and glanced up when someone entered the room. Seeing Corporal Romanoff standing there took him by surprise. He rose and held out his hand toward her. “Natasha, I wish the circumstances were better, but it's good to see you.”

Her normally stoic expression crumbled. She didn't stop with a handshake, just kept walking until they were pressed flush together. His arms came up instinctively to wrap around her. “Hey. It's gonna be okay. We'll get him through this.”

“C-clint--” she stuttered.

Steve went cold inside. “They said there was a casualty. Did Clint--” He didn't even want to say it.

“No!” She continued more quietly, “No, they were able to bring him back. He did die, but they revived him. He's here, just a couple of rooms over. There were no casualties.”

All the tension he'd been carrying disappeared in a rush, and he had to sit down to keep from falling down. That was the way with military squads. You couldn't just care about your loved one. You cared about everyone they were surrounded by on a daily basis. It meant the potential for hurt was so much greater than you ever anticipated.

“How is he?”

“Awake and talking. Barnes saved his life. Tried to push Clint clear of the blast just as it went off. It meant he was spared the main explosive force. He's--” She indicated her ears. “There's significant hearing loss. Pretty sure the army will honorably discharge him.”

“Can I see him?”

“Sure. He'd be glad to see you.”

Steve nodded and wiped fresh tears from his face with a tissue.

The comforting weight of Natasha's hand settled on his shoulder. “Barnes is tough as nails, and he's got every reason in the world to pull through this.”

“I know.” He was quiet for a moment. “I'm just so, so grateful it wasn't worse. This is bad enough, but we can get through this. We can learn how to adjust. If I'd lost him--” He couldn't figure out how to verbalize what it would have been like to suddenly have his other half missing.

“You'll be taking him home whenever he's discharged from here. Not saying it's gonna be easy. Just make sure you get him some good help. Make sure the VA doesn't give you the run around.”

Bucky moaned.

Steve rushed back to his bedside to watch the way his eyes fluttered, the way his toes moved beneath the blanket, the way his fingers curled. All signs he was coming back to reality. It still took several hours. The body didn't just leap into awareness after trauma like Bucky had been through. He came out of it in stages, slowly and then with one final push.

He didn't leave his husband's bedside during those hours. One moment, he was reading something on his phone. The next, he glanced up into a pair of stormy blue eyes, half-lidded and then opening fully.

“Steve.”

“I'm here, Buck. I'm right here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds out that recovery isn't an easy road to follow.

Watching your husband struggle was one thing. Watching your other half refuse to acknowledge just how bad things were was something entirely different. Steve couldn't do anything to help Bucky unless Bucky let him in, communicated, gave some indication as to what was going on inside his head. Unfortunately, one of his husband's biggest flaws was not acknowledging when things went south.

The physical therapist came 'round twice a day to help Bucky ease into a life with only one arm, and no one had any complaints about his work ethic. He did everything the therapists asked with bells on, and that was the trouble. He didn't seem to have any emotional reaction to suddenly missing something so intrinsic as a limb. There was no indication he was even mad about it.

That was ultimately what had Steve worried. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Only someone should tell Newton the laws of physics just didn't apply to James Buchanan Barnes, and God, was it frustrating. Watching him push through physical therapy, knowing he was saying all the words the psychologists wanted to hear in order to be cleared for discharge hurt for no other reason than because Steve knew they had that brewing on the horizon.

Eventually, everything Bucky suppressed would explode. Too bad convincing his husband of that ranked right up there with pulling a crocodile's tooth. While said crocodile was still alive.

After the first three weeks in Germany spent recovering, Buck was released on a flight home to the United States and checked into a rehab facility that would continue transitioning him back to civilian life. Therapists there taught him how to bathe himself, how to put on his own shoes, even how to dress without assistance. Tasks as simple as walking to the bathroom could be frustrating since his balance needed to be relearned.

Steve visited daily, but the more independent Bucky became, the more Steve felt like he was being shut out. His husband didn't talk to him. They had shared everything before the injury. Now, it felt like Bucky's nurses knew more about his internal life than his own husband.

He bustled inside Bucky's room one afternoon with a bouquet of flowers. “How're you feeling today, Bee-Bear?” The bouquet got stuck in a vase near the window, and he stopped to give his husband a kiss that met stubble growing on his husband's cheek instead of the lips he'd been aiming for.

“Fine.”

“You don't sound very fine.”

“Claire kicked my ass in PT today.”

Tense silence blanketed them. Their silences had never been awkward before, but the atmosphere suddenly felt the weight of all the words they weren't saying to each other, and Steve felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach by a horse.

He searched for something to say. “I spoke to your advocate today.”

“Yeah? What'd Wilson have to say?”

“Lots of things. Things I didn't necessarily understand, but I don't think that man knows how to communicate in anything but auctioneer speak.” 

Wade Wilson, who had served in Desert Storm, had been set on fire. Most of his face was a mish-mash of skin graphs and old scars. He made up for it with thrice the personality, though.

“Your disability pension will be coming through in a couple of months. He'd like to bring over papers for you to sign so it can be direct-deposited into your banking account.”

“'S fine. You can have him put it in our joint account if you want.”

“How 'bout we split it half and half? That way you have spending money without dipping into household expenses.”

“Whatever.”

“Bucky...” He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe a plea to be allowed back into his husband's confidences.

When Bucky spoke, it was with a frantic edge, desperate to fill the silence without saying anything meaningful. “How's Peggy and the baby?”

“They're doing well. Right on schedule at seven and a half months. She can't wait for you to get home so you can take over foot massaging duty. Pretty sure she's getting sick of me painting her toenails.”

Bucky turned his head to the side to look out the window. “Sure.”

“Bee-Bear--”

“I'm really tired, Steve. Could we maybe do this another day?”

“Okay, honey. If that's what you want. You just rest up.”

Steve kissed his husband's forehead and spent a few minutes fluffing his blanket and pillows before stepping out. Once outside, he leaned against the wall and covered his face with both hands to allow the sorrow to slip freely through his control. The worst part? The worst part was knowing there was really nothing for him to do except what he was already doing. _Be patient. Back off when asked. Offer to listen but don't make him talk. Allow him to figure out things at his own pace. Recovery isn't linear. It's like a seismic chart, made up of jagged lines full of peaks and valleys._

He was on his way out when he noticed a new flier pinned to the cork board. It advertised group therapy for military spouses. Normally, he would have gone right past without a second look, but if it could at all prepare him for supporting Bucky during his recovery, then it was worth a chance, right? He peeled off one of the numbers and called it in the privacy of his car.

Group wasn't anything at all the way he imagined when he attended his first session. Most of the people were women, wives of military husbands. The only other man was there to learn how to cope with his wife's PTSD. Steve was pretty sure the cookies didn't hurt either. 

His reservations over being the only gay man proved groundless, as they welcomed him with open arms. Plus, he was pretty sure the wives appreciated his feedback as a readily available male perspective. Jordan, the other male, didn't talk enough for them to pick his brain.

Just being able to get his concerns off his chest went a long way in helping him cope. Sheila had gone through the same thing with her husband, Mark. He had withdrawn after finishing his final deployment and finally retiring. Something about feeling like his identity as a soldier had been left behind in Iraq.

So Steve worked harder to be patient while Bucky suffered through his issues. Patience was the only tool he had left in his arsenal anyway since divorce was the furthest thing from his mind. Giving away half his soul wasn't even an option. Besides, he'd been called the king of stubborn. If he couldn't love Bucky better than he would out-stubborn his spouse.

Then, two months and one week after the incident in Iraq, he finally got to bring Bucky home. They had a small homecoming party for him, just a few friends: Peggy, Angie, and Gabe. The few people Buck had kept in touch with after high school. Some of their communal friends from the office.

It was a low-key evening with beer and pizza, and his husband seemed to brighten up while visiting with people he hadn't seen in years. He was more alive and engaged than he'd been since his discharge, so Steve would have considered it a successful evening if it hadn't ended so terribly. 

That night, Bucky asked to sleep in the guest room instead of their bedroom.

Their first major purchase together after high school had been an adorable brownstone with money Steve had gotten from the settlement. He'd won a malpractice suit against his ma's doctors. They'd been negligent in her care following a routine procedure that had led to her death.

Home was charming, with exposed brick and chandelier medallions that were original to the house. They had three bedrooms, one of which was a guest room and the other an office—the office was being converted into the baby's nursery since it was next door to their master suite. There were two full baths, and a small fenced backyard, and they were flanked on either side by colorful homes filled with respectable neighbors.

Steve loved their home, and they had never spent a night apart from each other whenever Bucky was there. Until that night. He tried really hard to pretend he wasn't upset by the request. After all, patience was a virtue. But hearing that his husband didn't want to sleep beside him their first night back in their home sent him to bed where he cried himself to sleep.

Mostly, he didn't know what he'd done wrong, and it was starting to feel personal. Bucky was charming as ever when they had guests or went out for shopping. In fact, he was pretty sure the teenage clerk checking them out at the grocery received more smiles than he did.

“I just need to grab my prescriptions at the pharmacy. I'll meet you by the car?”

“Sure thing.”

He was going to add infuriatingly agreeable to the list before much longer. Could that be a symptom of something? Bucky had never been quietly agreeable before.

Steve picked up the important scripts, the ones he couldn't live without, and headed out to the car. His husband already had most of the groceries loaded by the time he arrived, so they finished loading and got in, at which point, he placed his script bags on the console between them to start the car. It didn't occur to him that Bucky would notice anything amiss.

“They forget to fill your arthritis and pain prescriptions? Might as well have the pharmacist fill them while we're here. Save a trip out.”

“I don't really need them anymore.”

One of Buck's eyebrows lifted.

A light huff escaped. “The benefits don't outweigh the cost. I got the things I needed to keep me going, though, the really important scripts.”

They had to have the same conversation again later that night when Bucky noticed that Steve had switched paint brands in his art studio, that they were eating off-brand cereal instead of name brand, that Steve hadn't picked up any if the Milano cookies Steve adored. There were other things around the house, too. He'd canceled their paper. He'd purchased a push mower on Craigslist to mow the back lawn himself instead of hiring someone. They gave up cable in favor of Netflix and Hulu.

Nothing in the world could make him put on Bucky's shoulders the fact that the army disability wasn't nearly as much Bucky's regular pay had been. They were starting to hurt financially what with getting ready for a baby and surviving on two-thirds the income they'd had before.

The money troubles came to head when Steve collapsed at the office and was rushed to the emergency room, Angie riding in with him and wearing her best “Steve, no” look—he attempted to refuse transport to the hospital citing that he was conscious. No one thought he was funny or cute, and Peggy threatened to hit him with an office chair. Peggy's threats should always be taken seriously.

Doctors were in the process of running tests when Buck arrived from home. He hurried into the curtained area to take Steve's hand, face a mask of fear.

“I got here as soon as I could. What happened?”

Well, if his husband was going to turn up and appear engaged and concerned, Steve would have to collapse more often at the office. He curled his fingers around Bucky's. “Nothing serious.”

Angie leveled a flat look at him. “Dr. Erskine's on his way. The doctors here are running tests, but we think his new immunosuppressants aren't strong enough. He was having chest pains all morning.”

“Steve.”

“Please, don't.”

The incoming lecture halted in its tracks when a hospital clerk entered to take down Steve's information. “I see your health insurance is out of date. We can update that for you now.”

He mumbled his response.

“I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.”

“I don't have health insurance.”

“Why not?” demanded Bucky.

“Because grants and donations are down this year, so my salary is down, and Congress repealed the Affordable Care Act, and did Congress really think insurance companies would lower their rates once they figured out how much people will pay when they're being suspended over a crocodile pit, and without the government subsidies, we just can't afford it.”

“Oh, Steve.” Bucky's shoulders slumped, and he leaned down to kiss Steve's forehead. “That's why you didn't fill all your scripts.”

He swallowed around the knot of emotion in his throat, tried to blink away the moisture in his eyes. “My immunosuppressants aren't cheap. Between that and horomone therapy...” The rest trailed off.

The clerk sat up straighter and offered a compassionate smile. “I'm going to ask you some questions about your financial information, and we'll see if we can't do something to have the hospital's portion of the bill paid. You'll still receive bills from the doctors and any tests you have done, but it will lighten your load to have the ER charges covered.”

Steve cried himself to sleep again when they kept him overnight for observations. 

Dr. Erskine's kindly face greeted him when he awoke in the morning to the sound of Abraham entering his private room. Beside them, Bucky was attempting to get some sleep in an oversized chair. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, but Abraham unfurled a blanket and draped it over the man.

“You're supposed to call me if you have any major reactions to the new drug, Steven. What happened to calling me and letting me know you weren't feeling well?”

“Things have been complicated,” Steve responded.

“Clearly, your immunosuppressant isn't functioning well enough. Unfortunately, there isn't a generic for this particular drug, but I will put you in touch with organizations that can help you cover the cost.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He glanced out the window into the parking lot and couldn't stop the tear that tickled its way down his cheek. And they had a baby on the way. How the Hell were they going to bring a baby into the picture when his body was failing him (again), Bucky and he were barely speaking, and their finances were taking a long, slow slide into the shitter?

“Steven, look at me.”

He glanced over to his long-time doctor.

“We'll get you through this.”

It was hard to see how things could ever be all right again, but Steve Barnes had never backed away from a fight before. He certainly wasn't going to now, so the first thing he did on Monday morning was to list his dad's Harley on Autotrader. The decision was easy. The sacrifice would not be.

Buck and he were going to be parents. Sentimentality meant nothing when measured against the impending birth of their daughter. When you were a parent, you bartered your soul if needs be to provide for the life you forced into the world.

Naturally, Bucky Barnes had something to say about it when he found out.

“You can't sell your bike. That's all you got left of your dad.”

“What the Hell else do you expect me to do, Buck? The baby's gonna need diapers and formula and a college fund, and clothes. You expect me to pull the cash outta my ass?”

“None of which you're gonna solve with the few grand you'll make from the bike.”

“Yeah, well, it's my bike and my decision. Not yours.”

“Look, Riley's dad is moving up here from New Orleans in a couple of months. He's expanding his business and opening up a body shop in Queens. Riley said he can talk to his old man and get me a job running the front desk or something.”

“No.”

“Steve!”

“You just got back from the goddamn army. Your goddamn arm got blown off. I think that entitles you to a little down time to figure out where your head is.”

“Yeah, except that it's my goddamn arm, not yours! My arm, my body, my decision!”

“Buck, just let me do this.”

“Watch out Brooklyn! Mr. Sacrifice over here's done made up his mind. If anybody's gonna pay with a pound of their flesh, it's gonna be him. My fucking husband. Not happy unless he's throwing himself on a fire playing the martyr.”

“Stop yelling at me!” Steve finally shouted. He couldn't stop the sudden wellspring of tears that overflowed. He turned away to flee into their bedroom and slammed the door in his wake.

“Steve,” Bucky started.

He pressed his face into the pillow and wept.

A soft knock sounded on the door. “Stevie.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Barnes family gets an unexpected house guest.

Steve's eyes were swollen and uncomfortably dry when he woke. A glance at the clock assured him he'd only slept a couple of hours, which was a relief. There was dinner to look after, a load of laundry to be done, and he needed to make sure Bucky did his exercises for the night.

Unfortunately, the nap hadn't gone a long way in soothing him after the fight. Bucky and he didn't fight a lot, at least they hadn't before the incident in Afghanistan. After, it felt like they were at odds on some intrinsic level, like the very fiber of their beings had shifted out of alignment just enough that their pieces didn't fit together anymore. He was so scared the change was permanent.

Something soft emanated through the door. He couldn't place it at first. Sitting up, he pushed fingers through his hair in a failed attempt to get it lay flat and snuffled back as much of the crying-snot in his nose as he could. A dull headache had settled at the base of his skull that he wasn't sure regular Tylenol would defeat. Between that and the dull ache of the arthritis in his hands, he was second-guessing his decision not to fill his anti-inflammatory scripts.

He heard the noise again in the silence that followed.

Muffled by the door, Bucky's voice poured through like hot chocolate on a winter night, crisp apple cider in the fall, Ma's lemon meringue pie when some stupid kid called him every bad name in the book. Bucky's voice was comfort wrapped in song. 

“I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy. I'll be your hope, I'll be your love, be everything that you need. I love you more with every breath truly madly deeply do.”

A groan escaped. Steve flopped an arm across his eyes because of course Bucky would bring out the big guns in an effort to smooth things over. It wasn't like Steve had any resistance to that dorky voice.

“I will be strong. I will be faithful 'cause I'm counting on a new beginning, a reason for living, a deeper meaning.” Gently, his husband started tapping against the door in rhythm with his voice.

“Bucky...”

“I want to stand with you on a mountain.”

Steve finally surrendered and rolled out of bed.

“I want to bathe with you in the sea.”

He hauled open the door, and Bucky, who had been sitting on the floor with his back against it, fell inward until he was staring up at Steve from the carpet.

“I want to lay like this forever.” Bucky's smile was crooked and his eyes soft and vulnerable.

“Honey, you're a dork.”

“Until the sky falls down on me.”

“Your a dork. Your music is a dork. The whole neighborhood is a dork.”

“I want to stand with you on a mountain.” His husband got his shoulders bopping along to the beat. “I want to bathe with you in the sea.”

Steve finally relented and flopped down beside him to comb fingers through his husband's hair and sang along with him. “I want to lay like this forever.”

Both their voices joined together for the last line. “Until the sky falls down on me.”

They were quiet for a few moments.

Finally, Bucky said, “I'm sorry I screamed at you.”

“I'm sorry I tried to tell you what to do.”

“I'm sorry I've been shutting you out.”

“I'm sorry I've been aggressively normal.”

“I'm sorry I've hurt you.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Why call yourselves Savage Garden if you're gonna produce a poppy song like Truly Madly Deeply? Do they mean savage like Alice in Wonderland with stately Irises being snooty during afternoon tea or savage as in Little Shop of Horrors? Because I'm pretty sure Savage Garden's garden is dolled up with peonies and marigolds and-- Well, at least I got you to laugh.”

Bucky was practically wheezing he was laughing so hard. “I'll ask them that in a fan letter.”

“Seriously, that's like naming a lion Fluffer Nutter or your velociraptor Kitty Boo Boo.”

The moment was lost when his husband turned more serious. The man sat up and faced Steve, their knees touching. Bucky reached across to settle a hand on Steve's leg. “Please don't sell the bike. Let me have Riley talk to his dad. For me and for the family.”

“I just wanted to give you time to adjust to life as a civilian before sending you out into the workforce. You're not processing things, and I'm afraid it will hit you all at once.”

“Thing is, you don't get tell me how to cope with stuff. That's not your call.”

“Promise me,” Steve choked out. “Promise me you'll take care of yourself and that you'll see someone if things start getting bad? Honey, I can live without Dad's bike; I can't live without you.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment before finally crawling into Steve's lap to snuggle against him. “I don't really know how I'm supposed to feel right now. It's weird. Everybody thinks the arm should be what's bothering me the most, and sure, it's messed up having to learn how to live without an arm, but it's not what's got me twisted up so bad.”

Steve threaded his fingers through his husband's hair and made an encouraging sound.

“I been in the army for so long I'm not sure how to live without being Sergeant Barnes. All of a sudden, I got no career, no college education, a baby on the way, a husband whose health tries to crap out on us every year, and no way to know how to contribute.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I don't know, Stevie. You always jump in there wanting to fix things, but sometimes there's no reset button. Sometimes, there's just no way to fix something.”

A beat of silence kicked by.

“Have I made you feel like you have to be better?”

His husband looked reluctant to respond.

“Bee-bear, you gotta tell me the truth. We've never had a problem telling each other the truth.”

The other man looked at the ragged nails on his remaining hand and reached up to massage the end of his stump. The twinge of discomfort there was still evident. “Yeah. You kinda have. Normally I love your take-charge attitude, baby, but it's kinda driving me nuts right now. You might never get back the old Bucky Barnes, the carefree guy you married right outta high school.”

“Hey.” He tucked his fingers under his husband's chin and lifted his face. “I don't want that guy back. Don't get me wrong, I love the Hell outta that guy, but the Bucky Barnes I wanna spend the rest of my life with is right here, and I'm sorry if I've made you feel any different.”

Bucky kissed his cheek before burrowing back under his chin. “Sing me something. Like old times.”

“Old times, huh?”

They climbed off the floor, and Steve stood with his husband bracketed between his thick arms. Finally, he started to sing. “Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away. If you can use some exotic booze, there's a bar in far Bombay. Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away.”

He swayed them back and forth in time with the beat of the song, but their intimate moment ended with the doorbell chiming. Couldn't be Peggy or Angie. They never bothered knocking.

His husband sent him to get a glass of water while Bucky answered the door. Moments later, voices drifted in from the foyer followed by soft laughter. He heard Clint long before he saw him.

“Have you heard the gospel of Jesus?” asked Clint in his best Sunday sermon voice.

“No, but I heard o' Bessie the Brown Cow.”

Both men broke into fits of giggles while Nat murmured something too low for Steve to hear.

He finally stepped from the kitchen to greet their guests. Clint's enthusiasm spilled into their greeting, but Nat, as was usually the case, was more reserved in her emotions. Still, Nat and he shared something now. They both felt the pain of nearly losing someone they loved, so when she stepped forward to hug him, there was extra warmth in their embrace.

“I'm glad to see you,” she murmured.

“Likewise. You should have called, though. We would have picked you up from the airport.”

“I'm not here long. Our CO granted me extra leave to help Clint get settled here in New York. I go back at the end of the month.”

“Where do you think you'll be staying while you're here?”

“We have a room at an extended stay hotel until we find quarters for Clint.”

“That's nonsense,” Steve exclaimed, and he glanced over to Clint and Bucky. “There's no reason for you to stay at a hotel when we have a spare room.”

“You sure?” asked Clint.

“Absolutely. You're Buck's family as much as I am.”

“Thanks. That would be--” The other man couldn't finish whatever he'd meant to say, as he was interrupted by the sound of loud music blaring down the road from inside a car. He cringed. Hands flew to his ears like that would somehow cut down the noise.

Bucky hurried to close the front door to lessen the sound.

“My hearing aides--” He couldn't finish again.

“They amplify extraneous noises, not just your voices. If there's a lot of noise in the area, he still won't be able to hear you even if you're standing closer than the outside sounds.”

“Understood,” Bucky said.

And that was how they had house guests for the next month. Clint insisted on paying his share of the groceries and utilities, which helped stretch the Barnes budget and allowed Steve to remove his dad's Harley from its listing. Living with them wasn't a hardship. He could barely tell they were around most of the time, and when Clint got frustrated with his hearing (which happened on the regular), Steve and Bucky started learning sign language to better communicate.

Of course, getting their house guest to learn it too proved the bigger challenge. The corporal was one of the most laid-back people he'd ever met. Hardly anything ruffled his feathers, so when he refused to learn sign language, it was something of a shock. A week-long argument was required to get him to even consider the option, and when he finally agreed, he certainly didn't throw himself into the process.

It came to a head one afternoon when Bucky stood at the bottom of the stairs yelling himself hoarse to call Clint down for dinner. Nat was out running an errand at the time, so she wasn't there to physically go and remind him it was time to eat, and Bucky wasn't enabling Clint's dependence. Eventually, their guest skulked down, but by then, steam practically poured out of Steve's husband. He greeted his former colleague with hand planted firmly on hip and a sergeant's scowl.

Steve beat feet into the kitchen to give them space and to check the chicken stir fry on the stove.

What followed was an exhibition in stubbornness, and he was so engrossed in the screaming match going on that he let dinner get away from him. Neither man showed any signs of giving ground, at least not until Clint failed to realize the smoke detector was blaring until plumes of smoke wafted from the kitchen and was nearly barreled over when Bucky sprang into action.

Steve, meanwhile, cursed and turned to find the contents of the skillet and a few boxes of cereal and crackers next to the stove on fire. He squeaked. He was just in the process of doing something royally dumb, like pouring water on an electric stove top, when Bucky rushed past him with the fire extinguisher and a shout for Steve to get back before the smoke could aggravate his asthma.

Nat returned to find them sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor covered in foam from the extinguisher. The remnants of dinner sat in a charred lump on the stove top. She took one look at them and grabbed the phone to order pizza instead.

They never spoke of it again. The next day, Clint got on board with learning sign language.

Two weeks later, what had started as a temporary stay turned long-term, as Nat needed to fly back to Afghanistan before they found anything suitable for Clint. Bucky and Clint continued looking for apartments after her flight, but they always came back with some excuse as to why the places they'd seen that day wouldn't be suitable. Either it was in the wrong neighborhood or it was too near a train station or it was above a business where noise bled through the floor.

Again, it was Steve who broached the issue of Clint staying until Nat finished her last deployment. What was the point in getting an apartment until she returned to agree to it? Besides, he was pretty sure Bucky and Clint had been silently plotting for just that all along. It didn't bother him in the slightest. They could pull the wool over his eyes any time they wanted as long as it ended with Bucky happy. He could admit he had a blind spot when it came to his husband.

A benefit of the new arrangement? Clint started going to group meetings at the local chapter of the VA, and he wasn't too proud to guilt Bucky into accompanying him as his translator. They were like two peas in a pod after that and would hardly agree to be seen in public without each other.

Steve could admit he was a tiny bit jealous that his husband was so physically at ease with Clint when they were still sleeping on opposite sides of their marital bed, when Bucky still wouldn't kiss him. He would never push his husband for intimacies he wasn't ready to give, and he felt incredibly selfish for even missing that kind of closeness. It got bad enough Peggy remarked on how frazzled he looked when he was at the office one day. The next day, she gave him a gift bag. It contained a vibrator and bottle of lube. His face was beet red the rest of the week.

Then one day, Steve had the attic ladder down and was rifling through a bunch of old boxes looking for some baby things his ma had handed down to him when Bucky stuck his head through the opening. It was just in time for Steve to give a furious sneeze that sent dust motes scattering.

“What's up?” Bucky asked.

“Just looking for my christening gown. Should be up here in a box labeled baby things.”

His husband pulled himself the rest of the way into the attic. “We haven't really talked about that kind of thing. I mean, I'm not really religious. Were you planning on having her christened?”

“Yeah.” He thought better of the statement. “I mean, if that's something you're okay with.”

“Suppose it couldn't hurt, but you know we talked about not raising her with a certain kind of religion.”

“No, I know. I wasn't gonna send her to catechism or anything like that, but since Ma grew up in the church and she won't ever get the chance to know her nana, I thought...”

“Hey, that's okay. I understand wanting to do that.”

“I thought we could name Clint and Nat her godparents.”

“That's really something, baby. You're sure Peggy, Angie, and Gabe won't be offended?”

“Already talked to them about it. They're not religious at all. Besides, if something happens to us, then they'll get custody of her. Making Clint and Nat her godparents gives her another set of parental figures to rely on as she gets older.”

Steve was quiet again, morose over the fact that his mother hadn't lived long enough to become a grandmother. She'd been there for the wedding, thank Christ, but she would have been thrilled to welcome another Barnes-Rogers into the world.

Bucky leaned forward to kiss Steve's shoulder. “You miss her a lot right now, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So do I.” A beat passed. “Okay, let's find this box and get you down out of the dust.”

They pulled through stacks of storage items until finally locating the box at the bottom of a pile beneath containers holding the tuxes from their wedding. A soft smile curled his mouth as he brushed his thumb over the satin lapel before closing the containers and setting them aside.

He was just pulling out the gown when Bucky laughed. His glance lifted toward the ceiling.

“Mistletoe?”

“Musta been left over from Christmas.”

Bucky's hand cupped the back of his neck to pull him forward until their lips met. It was their first kiss since last Christmas and sent jolts of happiness arching through his body. He pulled back to smile. His husband's thumb skimmed his bottom lip. They kissed again, softly, a whisper of contact that promised a lifetime of kisses to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments. You're the reason this series continues. We'll see these lovebirds again in a future stand-alone. I can hear baby squeals in their next update. Or "That Time Peggy carter Almost Broke Steve Rogers' Hand And Bucky Passed Out In The Hospital."


End file.
